"Roger Zelazny - Andionly" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

distance. Then--Then . . . ?
Then!
He saw it. There was a ship off the port bow! He looked
about frantically. There was no one near him. This was it. If
he hurried. If he was not seen.
He approached his barrel, undid the fastenings, looked
about again. Still no one nearby. The other vessel definitely
appeared to be approaching. There was neither time nor means to
calculate courses, judge winds or currents. There was only the
gamble and the hope.
He took the former and held to the latter as he rolled the
barrel to the railing, raised it, and cast it overboard. A
moment later he followed it.
The water was icy, turbulent, dark. He was sucked
downward. Frantically he clawed at it, striving to drag himself
to the surface.
Finally there was a glimpse of light. He was buffeted by
waves, tossed about, submerged a dozen times. Each time, he
fought his way back to the top.
He was on the verge of giving up when the sea suddenly
grew calm. The sounds of the storm softened. The day began to
grow brighter about him. Treading water, he saw the vessel he
had just quitted receding in the distance, carrying its private
hell along with it. And there, off to his left, bobbed the
barrel with the blue marking. He struck out after it.
When he finally reached it, he caught hold. He was able to
draw himself partly out of the water. He clung there and
panted. He shivered. Although the sea was calmer here, it was
still very cold. When some of his strength returned, he raised
his head, scanned the horizon.
There!
The vessel he had sighted was even nearer now. He raised
an arm and waved it. He tore off his shirt and held it high,
rippling in the wind like a banner.

He did this until his arm grew numb. When he looked again
the ship was nearer still, though there was no indication that
he had been sighted. From what appeared to be their relative
movements, it seemed that he might well drift past it in a
matter of minutes. He transferred the shirt to his other hand,
began waving it again.

When next he looked, he saw that the vessel was changing
course, coming toward him. Had he been stronger and less
emotionally drained, he might have wept. As it was, he became
almost immediately aware of a mighty fatigue and a great
coldness. His eyes stung from the salt, yet they wanted to
close. He had to keep looking at his numbed hands to be certain
that they maintained their hold upon the barrel.
"Hurry!" he breathed. "Hurry. . . ."